MAP 61

This week's theme: New Year's Resolutions

Upcoming Themes:

#62 - Cartwheel-Challenged Poets

#63 - Games People Play (Can include sports poems)

#64 - The Working Stiff

Once again I'm disregarding this week's theme (seems you guys either haven't been making resolutions, or are sandbagging those poems).

I have, however, received some submissions from poets in distant places, hope you enjoy. Thanks to all who sent in your poetry.

1. From Martin Holroyd for Poetry Monthly, Nottingham, England:


This easel could be anywhere,

white airy villa on the Agean,

closeted croft on the grey slopes of Arran.

Placing shapes and shade -

the horizon is always the same.

© Martin Holroyd

2. Manoj Oswal, of India, requested to be added to the MAP mailing list after learning of it at The Mining Company. (See Cool Web Sites section below)


She would run a mile

to give a cute smile

she would hit me, beat me

sometimes kiss me

At times she gives those odd looks

like the characters in my old books

At times she acts very wise

And even asks me about my shirt's price

Of love and beauty she is a blend

A great companion and a wonderful friend

her thoughts are of silver, fantasies of gold

she eyes are a reflection of many stories untold

Heart breaking is her cry and

Inspiring is her laughter

Who else can she be other than

my two year old daughter

By... Manoj Oswal <>

3. Victoria Mosley from the U.K. is already registered to attend AIPF. Good going, Victoria!

The Last December

Silent sleet spits of snow

the lane blanches

stone washed to subdued tones,

horses pace the empty gate

expecting hay, nostrils puffing smoke

red flamed membranes shrunk

to fur balls blank, against the cold.

Boundaries crumble ,

the house rejects the boots of buyers

lusting to fill our place

and the New Year opens it's arms

beckoning with invisible fingers

offering unknown dangers.

I walk the damp path to leat's edge

swollen with rain from higher ground,

trace the familiar gaze of velvet moor

obsolete in the thick mist that enters,

and remember the pomander of last December.

When I stood

solid in my niche

diving like a lithe bird

covering the long hurt,

and avoiding the mistletoe .

© 1998 Victoria Mosley

4. Jean Lewin lives in Virginia, not sooo distant. Of this poem she says:

"I wrote this one for a 12-year old member of Poets Anonymous, Danielle Nottingham, who is now 17, married and expecting a baby!!!"




More women drive trucks these days.

When I was a kid, my mom never did.

These new girls have changed their ways.

More girls ride on motorcycles.

When I was in school, that would've been cool

But we hid behind menstrual cycles.

It's what we were taught, that we never ought

to try to enjoy anything labelled "BOY."

We had to wear pink and hold back what we think

and there's so much we couldn't enjoy.

More girls wear the pants today.

When I was a child, folks would've gone wild

and boys would've stayed away.

We had to stay quiet and I won't deny it -

I had lots of things to say.

Like: why can't I run out like boys and have fun

and play in the dirt and wear a torn shirt

or holler out loud or act bold and proud?

As a girl, I just wasn't allowed.

But now years have passed, and I only ask

one thing from you, sweet Danielle.

Your freedom was earned, don't let things return

to what I've just had to tell.